


Vanshaj

by avani



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Father Figures, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-06 17:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11040516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/pseuds/avani
Summary: Kattappa and Baahubali and his father's sword.





	Vanshaj

Be it found in prince or pauper, Kattappa knows, pride must come before a fall. He has seen the proof of this a thousand times before. A boy, newly grown comfortable with the feel of bow or mace or sword in his hands becomes complacent, and all too confident of his skills -- and in that lies his death. 

Prince Baahubali is no exception. 

The same problem does not afflict his brother: there is a hunger inside Prince Bhalladeva that renders him never satisfied with any of his triumphs. Kattappa cannot bring himself to disapprove: many a great warrior has been stirred to new heights by the restlessness and impatience he finds in the elder prince. But the younger? Baahubali laughs and delights in his ability and that, before anything else, must be curbed for his own good. 

This is what brings Kattappa to the royal pavilion at daybreak, to intrude upon the family as they break their fast. 

Bijjaladeva notices him first, mouth twisting into his habitual sneer.

"Come to beg for scraps, dog?" 

The jibe is an old one, and so easy to ignore. Kattappa folds his hands and addresses the Queen Mother. "Your pardon for disturbing you, Lady, but I have need of the younger prince. With your permission...?" 

Prince Bhalladeva snickers and nudges his brother. Prince Baahubali says nothing. 

"You have no need to ask it," pronounces the Queen Mother. "You are his teacher, and a teacher's rights over his student are no less than a father's over his son. Baahu!" The prince looks up at that, eyes wide and serious. "Go with Kattappa. Do as he says." 

With a final reverence to his mother's feet, Prince Baahubali rises. They walk in silence together until the prince realizes that they are approaching the armory. He peers curiously around, but ever obedient, he does not let his steps slow. Something in Kattappa softens; quietly he says, "We've come to collect your new sword, my prince." 

Encouraged, Prince Baahubali asks as they enter the room: "Should I not use my own sword? Mother had it made only for me, she said, and anything received from her hands can have no flaws." 

Kattappa knows this well. The Queen Mother had commissioned her sons' identical swords from the finest smiths in the country, crafted to be both light enough for a boy's hand to grip and sharp enough for a man's hand to use. Such a sword would not be sufficient for what he had in mind. 

"That sword was given you as a sign of your right to rule, my prince, by the grace of Queen Mother Sivagami. This sword you must earn." With that, he lifts the weapon he describes from its place of pride, where it has enjoyed a well-deserved rest for a decade. No dust dares settle on the handle despite all these years, and the blade, when he draws it, is perfectly balanced. 

He hands it to his student, and Prince Baahubali stoops slightly under the unexpected weight. He blinks in surprise and uses an unprecedented second hand to hold it level. 

"First position!" Kattappa booms. Prince Baahubali does his best, but his steps are unsteady and the sword tips precariously. 

"Second position!" Worse, if possible, than the first. Kattappa takes him through the fifth before deciding that has been enough; Prince Baahubali's brow is damp with sweat and furrowed with confusion. His arms shake slightly with fatigue. 

"That's enough," Kattappa says, not unkindly. "It appears you are not ready yet." And, hopefully, now cognizant of the fact that more challenges exist in the world than even his strength and skill can face. Kattappa holds out a hand for the sword, but the prince's fingers linger over the handle; his thumb traces the horse-head as though trying to commit it to memory.

He releases it reluctantly. Kattappa, objective fulfilled, bows his head. "Let me return you to your meal, my prince." 

Prince Baahubali follows, but his shoulders sag with disappointment. Kattappa pays this no mind: pride must always come before a fall, and his prince can be no exception.

* 

Later he only wonders that he had not predicted what follows sooner. 

The responsibilities of a servant of Mahishmati are numerous, and on many days, Kattappa is taken from the task of training his charges by matters concerning the nation's security and meetings regarding the palace's protection. He might say it disrupts his intended schedule for his pupils' lessons more often than he'd like, but a slave has no right to like and dislike any task given him: his duty is to obey without question. 

On such a day when his attention is needed elsewhere than the training yard, Kattappa is released earlier than planned, but his students have already scattered to play or swim or whatever else young men do with their leisure. His steps turn, therefore, to the armory instead; more than a few blades needed sharpening, and he had meant to review the care given to the bowstrings for weeks now. 

He does not intend to find an intruder already present. 

Prince Baahubali shuffles his feet guiltily and lowers the sword with which he has been practicing, that same sword that had given him such difficulty when Kattappa had stood in this chamber with him last, now used with ease and precision. He kneels to pay the respects due a teacher from his student; Kattappa's skin crawls with discomfort nonetheless. Kattappa's hand stays at his side, incapable of giving the prince the blessing he expects. 

"Forgive me, Kattappa," Prince Baahubali blurts before Kattappa can speak, rising to his feet. "I shouldn't have taken the sword without permission. But I only wanted to see if it would be easier if I only tried again." 

"Was it?" Kattappa asks, curious despite himself. 

"No." Baahubali meets his eyes squarely. "But the time after that, it was, and easier still after that, and every time after." 

"You have no need to ask for permission to use what is already yours, my prince," says Kattappa gently, and when Baahubali stares, uncomprehending, goes on: "That sword belonged to your father. And now that you have proved your mastery of it, it is yours." 

Baahubali draws in a breath, looking at the weapon with new reverence. "Father's," he whispers, and stops, considering. "Did he use it often?" 

"It was never far from his hand." 

He is not yet content. "Did he--did he intend that I should have it?" There is a deeper question etched on his face, but Kattappa cannot read it. He can only reply with what he does know. 

"No one else has a right to it," confirms Kattappa, and Baahubali, unsatisfied but silent, studies the sword once more. 

Kattappa expects that will be the end of the matter, but as he prepares to leave, is surprised to hear the prince's voice behind him. 

"The sword you carry, Kattappa--was that _your_ father's?" 

Kattappa considers. "He used it before I did, yes." It is not quite the same thing; he does not think Prince Baahubali will be able to tell the difference. 

"Will you leave it to your son?" the prince persists. 

"No," says Kattappa, more sharply than he intends. "I will have no son." He will not condemn another innocent life to the burden of slavery; he will not repeat his father's mistake. The promise of his ancestors will die with him, and the sword that they have used for generations to serve Mahishmati will rust and shatter at last. 

Baahubali frowns. "If you did, though, and he earned the right to use your sword, would you be proud?"

Only then does Kattappa see the mute appeal in the boy's eyes. He has seen the same expression as Baahubali watches Bijjaladeva fuss and fawn over his son while hardly deigning to acknowledge his nephew's existence; he wonders idly if Baahubali would have asked the same question of his uncle, or if he would have already known he would only be rebuffed. 

Truth be told, Kattappa is unsure how much time Vikramadeva, good man though he was, would have been able to take from the demands of the state to spend with his son, but in this moment, the truth is not important. Gently, Kattappa says: "I would." 

Baahubali says nothing but holds the sword closer before excusing himself. They do not speak of this encounter ever again, but not three days later, the prince interrupts him at this meal and begs him to feed him. 

"Uncle," says Baahu, and Kattappa's heart surrenders.

* 

Future generations will never believe that the rout of the Kalakeya horde was complete before the sun reached its zenith, but there it is; victory, prayed for and planned to the last detail, had come down to this alone: every square inch of spare silk available in the entire camp, Baahu's uncanny ability to rouse hope in the hearts of the routed, and a single lucky stroke from Bhalladeva's mace. 

In the aftermath, Kattappa looks to Baahu first. As soon as he sees him, still breathing, still beaming despite his brother's success, Kattappa can bear whatever else is to come. Bhalladeva was raised alongside Baahu, after all, and has been judged to be his equal by all the ministers and priests of the court. A lifetime of his rule will be no punishment--but it would have been better, had it been Baahu. He tells himself this as he watches Bijjaladeva crow; he almost believes it. 

As always, he ought to have had more faith in Queen Mother Sivagami. She sees more clearly than do others, speaks with the voice of the country--and awards the kingship to he who truly deserves it. 

Kattappa's heart soars. Without quite meaning to, his gaze fixes on Bijjaladeva's face, twisted as it is with impotent rage. Years of insults and humiliation, and today Kattappa has been compensated for them all: for now his Baahu will be king, not Bijalladeva or Bijjaladeva's son, and Kattappa's joy knows no bounds. 

He finds Baahu in his tent, having escaped the congratulations of courtiers long enough to clean his sword. Kattappa is not surprised he excused himself for such a seemingly trivial chore; Baahu uses his father's sword almost exclusively these days, his previous blade relegated only to formal appearances in court, and insists on caring for it himself instead of having the servants of the armory see to its maintenance. He doesn't look up at Kattappa's approach, but a slow grin spreads across his face. 

"And you said I was wasting my time coming up with foolish tricks, Uncle," says Baahu, shaking his head in mock outrage. "They say wits wander with age, but I wouldn't have expected it to take effect so soon." 

Kattappa bows, low and humble. "I should have known better than to doubt you, my King." 

Baahubali does look up at that, eyes so wide for an instant Kattappa thinks he might have been eight years old once more. "Don't do that, Uncle," he says, voice earnest. "I'm still only your Baahu." He grins. "Or must I waste my first order as King declaring that you stop acting like a foolish old man?" 

"If I am a foolish old man," Kattappa grumbles out of sheer habit, "then perhaps you would give me the respect due your elders for once." Baahu relaxes and returns to the task of cleaning his weapon. Kattappa watches him work in silence, with fondness he does not bother to disguise. But he cannot tarry too long. The battlefield must be scoured for survivors, and the full extent of the losses accounted for. 

"Your father would be proud of you today, Baahu," he says as he leaves, knowing without having to look how Baahubali's face will brighten at the words; and adds, quietly: " _I_ am proud of you." 

He does not need to feel any regret at the words; guilt does not need to burden his shoulders. A slave is to possess nothing but duty: not family, not weapons, not even self-respect, but to love the future king of Mahishmati is to love Mahishmati itself. Love has no worth in and of itself; he is innocent of any wrongdoing. 

* 

"...aren't you ashamed, just standing there?" 

The Crown Princess of Kuntala--leave it to Baahu to fall hopelessly in love with the heir to the one kingdom which has historically shared a frosty relationship with Mahishmati--frowns, and Kattappa prays for inspiration, a half-lie, one that won't damage matters too much when the truth inevitably comes out. 

"My nephew," he hears himself say, and continues without letting himself consider further. His nephew is a simpleton--for what else could you call a man who refused to reveal his true identity, one that would easily impress even the isolationist Kuntalans-- sent to learn his life's craft by his mother. And something more: a promise of eternal devotion, that's it; hardly an exaggeration, given how Baahu has been mooning about. "If you take him in, Crown Princess, he will utter your name in thanks until his dying breath." 

Kattappa has never lied before. For Baahu's sake, he hopes it is convincing. 

Fortune must be with him. The Crown Princess accepts.

The Kuntalan royal guard is exceptionally efficient. Under ordinary circumstances Kattappa would approve wholeheartedly, but not when having to keep up with their pace when preparing for travel while keeping up his charade. Baahu slips away to ensure their horses will be cared for, and Kattappa gathers up the bundles of their clothes and belongings, hoping a soldier's practicality will be mistaken for poverty. 

The Crown Princess nods at him as he returns. "You may put your things in the palanquin," she tells him. 

"Won't you have need of it, Crown Princess?" 

She shakes her head. "I prefer travel in the fresh air when possible," she says, and as she speaks, he notices the open chariot waiting for her. She frowns, apparently in genuine concern due to his age. "Unless you would prefer to ride in the palanquin yourself? It is some distance to the palace, and you must be tired." 

He hears a familiar exhalation of breath behind him. As though Baahu needed another reason to sigh over her! "This body of mine is used to hard work, Crown Princess," he tells her gently. "I will walk alongside my nephew." 

She leaves, but not before giving the bundles in his hand a sidelong glance. No matter; she can hardly come to any conclusions from such a small thing. 

They make good time, reaching the palace by noon. The Crown Princess disappears within, but not before giving instructions that the two new arrivals be shown to their quarters. These, much to Kattappa's surprise, turn out to be in the palace kitchens but far more spacious than their equivalents in Mahishmati. He and Baahu have two cots between them, and a window besides --likely this largesse is only because of the fewer number of servants who have to be housed in the palace, but nonetheless Kattappa suspects it has more to the do with the royal family's kindness. That generosity extends to the guardsmen, who insist on carrying Kattappa's and Baahu's things to the kitchens themselves; Kattappa can only follow and pray they will not recognize the weight of armor. 

At last, it is done; the guardsmen retreat and Kattappa can be free of the threat of discovery for now. Baahu seems supremely unconcerned; he takes his sword and, having rejected the spaces under their cots or beneath their mattresses as far too obvious, tucks it away in the rafters. That complete, he strolls from the chamber, apparently gone to see if he can discover where Princess Devasena might be found. He doesn't even stay to discuss what plans he has made, if indeed he has any in mind: Kattappa suspects he would be perfectly happy to live in these kitchens for the rest of his life if it meant he could see the Crown Princess every day. 

All Kattappa can do is call behind him helplessly. A gardener, overhearing him, laughs. "That's a difficult age, sir," he calls up. "Young men are always too sure of themselves to heed anyone else." 

Kattappa shakes his head. "He has always been headstrong," he says. "My sister's son--she has spoiled him terribly. She's raised him to think of himself as a prince." 

The gardener nods in sympathy. "I have three nephews myself." He smiles. " But there is no denying I love them more than any I might have had myself, scamps though they are." 

Kattappa considers. The Crown Princess is already suspicious; is it not more prudent, and more in keeping with Baahu's wishes, to further the masquerade? No matter that it feels natural to speak of Baahu as his own, to laugh and and joke and share stories of childhood memories with the gardener that shouldn't be a slave's to treasure. 

The responsibilities of a servant of Mahishmati are numerous, he reminds himself, and sometimes more unorthodox than others. This is merely one more of them. 

* 

Another responsibility, it seems, is patience under the most trying circumstances. 

In vain does Kattappa hope that Baahu, having won his bride, no longer feels the need to woo her. If the trip from Kuntala to Mahishmati so far is any indication, Baahu's fascination with his Devasena shows no signs of decreasing. Perhaps he is right, and Kattappa understands nothing of romance, but even so Kattappa can see no reason to stand on deck staring at each other in the midst of choppy waters, ruining their finery when everyone else had run for shelter.

Fortunately the Crown Princess's attendants have more sense than she. They shepherd her below in early afternoon to don dry clothes, and Baahu, his sodden tunic exchanged for a new one, stands at the bow. Kattappa approaches him after a moment's thought. When they return to Mahishmati, things will change between them. Baahu will be King, after all, and a married man besides; Kattappa will be Mahishmati's servant once more. Wiser, he reflects, to accustom himself to such a fate already. 

Instead Baahu smiles to see him, and all Kattappa's noble resolutions are forgotten. "Uncle," says Baahu, "what was my mother like?" 

For years Kattappa has anticipated this question, for who else could Baahu ask? His mother's attendants had all died or left the palace by now, and most of the courtiers had paid scarcely any attention to the young queen for the scant years she had lived. The Queen Mother would remember her sister-in-law, true, but a mother's love can be jealous, and Baahu would never risk having her feel slighted in favor of the woman who had given birth to him. 

"She was a princess of high lineage," says Kattappa. "Well-mannered and gracious. Mahishmati celebrated for days when she arrived in our city to marry your father." 

Baahu looks out at the river."But what did my father think of her, and she of him? Were they happy?" 

Kattappa blinks. Truthfully, he had never considered such a thing. "It was an excellent alliance for Mahishmati," he offers. "I am sure your father must have been pleased." 

Vikramadeva might have been pleased, but at the moment his son appears rather less so. He shakes his head, though, and rests a hand on Kattappa's shoulder. "Not much longer, though, before we reach Mahishmati and explain everything to Mother. And then you'll have a better story to tell, someday." 

Unlikely; who else would even think to ask difficult questions about the past other than Baahu? Kattappa is about to point this out when there is a flurry of activity at the other side of the boat: the Crown Princess has reappeared on deck. Unsurprisingly, Baahu's gaze fixes past Kattappa, back onto her. 

"Go on, then," says Kattappa, struggling to keep his tone gruff instead of indulgent. "My old bones need to rest before we land in the morning." 

Baahu obeys, but laughs. "Don't think you can fool me, Uncle. Your old bones will outlive us all." 

Kattappa has never seen him so happy before. He prays that happiness will do nothing but increase, in the days to come. 

*

What is that stray wish but a bitter reminder as to why slaves shouldn't be given the right to grant blessings? True to his words, Baahu shows not an instant of sadness, not when his brother ascends the throne in his place, not when his wedding is sparsely attended only by those who dare risk the anger of the absent King and Queen Mother, not when all the power and prestige that an heir to the crown enjoys is pulled from his hands. Kattappa's heart is as unprincipled and weak as his body is well-trained and strong; it flinches at every new blow to Baahu's pride even as his body keeps him silent. 

And still Baahu smiles. 

The reason for this becomes clear as the months go by, when his wife announces she is with child; Mahishmati's heir, in Baahu's lineage as it should be! If only Baahu had been King, everyone would celebrate the news as Kattappa does. Now, with an unmarried King on the throne and a Queen Mother who still hasn't forgiven her son his initial defiance, it portends nothing but disaster. 

But Baahu smiles, and Kattappa can spare him this much, at least. 

"A daughter, I think," says Baahu, and Kattappa relaxes. In Queen Mother Sivagami's wake, a girl-child would have as much right to the throne as her brother; but to the hidebound conservatives who preceded her, a girl-child would be perceived as much less of a threat to Bhalladeva. 

They are walking back to the palace, Baahu's training of his soldiers complete for the day--sooner than the norm at late afternoon, a fact Kattappa attributes to Devasena finally conceding that the advanced stages of pregnancy make it difficult for her to oversee practice alongside her husband. And none too soon; Kattappa suspects that if she had her way, she would bear her child on the battlefield itself. 

As they pass the Shiva Temple, they are forced to stop. The royal retinue is emerging, and the Queen Mother, at its head, is deep in a discussion of how best to arrange the Rama Navami celebration that are soon to come; the thought of the _seemantham_ Devasena is due weeks before that must have slipped her mind entirely. Kattappa looks to Baahu, fearing the worst, but apart from a respectful bow to his mother, unacknowledged as has now become usual, Baahu continues with their conversation as before. 

"...and for a boy, Devasena favors the name Mahendra." Queen Mother Sivagami's steps falter, but whether at the reminder of her grandchild or her daughter-in-law, Kattappa cannot be sure. "I'm not sure why; I still think Shivu's an excellent name for a boy, don't you agree, Uncle?" 

Kattappa forces himself to chuckle as though entirely at ease. "Whatever you decide, Baahu, if your child is anything like you, we'll hear his name often enough echoing through the halls. You don't remember the trouble your poor mother had with you, making sure you were fed with her own hands when you only wanted to run and play." 

The Queen Mother's retinue passes along at last, and the way to the palace is clear. Baahu doesn't move, however. For once, his shoulders stoop; his expression is longing. Kattappa opens his mouth, but no words emerge. 

In the end, it is Baahu who comforts him. "Spare me the long face, old man. Mother will come around once the baby is born, you'll see." 

Only later, when the Queen Mother mentions in passing the next day that a hall in the palace is to be set aside for her daughter-in-law's _seemantham_ , does Kattappa think to wonder exactly how much of that encounter had been unintentional on Baahu's side. He sighs with relief; Baahu is still fighting, in the small ways that he can, and it is enough to keep hope alive in Kattappa's breast. 

* 

All hope is struck a mortal blow the afternoon Queen Mother Sivagami banishes her son and his wife, when she decrees that their old chambers be closed and barred for eternity; it dies in the evening, when King Bhalladeva orders that their belongings be taken out and burned. 

This is what leads Kattappa to commit the first crime of his life. He smiles ruefully; liar, thief--what else won't Baahu make him? 

The journey to the quarries is not a short one, even by horseback, but Kattappa considers himself lucky that enough townspeople had overheard Baahu's plans to be able to tell him where Baahu had gone. Kattappa will be needed back in Mahishmati by daybreak; he has no time to waste searching in vain.

When he enters the village, it does not take him long to seek out Baahu's little family. There they sit on the veranda of one of the cottages given the workers in exchange for the labor - Baahu, his Devasena, Kumar Varma, nobler by far than Kattappa expected, and Devasena's ladies-in-waiting. Dust already coats their clothing; they hold the meager rations the government provides its employees in their hands. 

Kattappa closes his eyes. Better that he had died in battle against the Kalakeyas than have to see such a day. Better that Baahu had died then, a hero, than to be reduced to such circumstances. 

"Uncle!" Baahu might have been greeting him in the palace courtyard, or within the throne room. "I didn't expect to see you here so soon. Come and eat with us." 

Kattappa's limbs are heavy, but he manages to obey. He casts a disapproving glance at Baahu's plate, and Baahu clucks his tongue. 

"Don't start fussing so soon. You've always known I thought your food tastier than ours." 

Kattappa casts a pleading glance at Devasena. "Lady Devasena," he begins, "you can't--" 

She laughs. "It's certainly better than anything I could cook myself," she says, "and so I have no complaints." 

As she speaks, Baahu discreetly slides some of the _rotis_ from his plate onto hers. Without looking, however, she replaces them. Their gazes lock, and grudgingly, deliberately, she accepts a single _roti_. 

Turning back to her ladies-in-waiting, Devasena speaks, her voice gentle: "And as for you--Kumar Varma will return to Kuntala in the morning. He will, I am sure, be happy to escort you to your families with my compliments, or, if you would prefer to stay in the palace, my sister-in-law would be pleased to accept you into your service, and so--" 

She is cut off by a series of protests from both her ladies-in-waiting and Kumar Varma, all loudly proclaiming that they have no intention of going anywhere. Devasena's expression hardens and her chin lifts; and Baahu, grinning, beckons to Kattappa to rise. 

"That may continue for some time," he says, as they leave the growing argument behind. "Better to speak here, in peace." 

"Yes," says Kattappa, reaching for the treasure he had stolen back for Baahu's sake. "I came to give you this." 

He holds it out, and Baahu reaches for it instinctively before halting. 

"It was Mother's decree," he says, "that I leave the palace, in the state that I was at the moment, taking nothing with me." 

"And so you laid the sword she gave you at her feet and renounced it as she asked," Kattappa reminds him, "but this is your father's legacy, Baahu. No one can take that from you." 

Baahu reaches for the sword, thumb tracing the horse-head tip with fondness and familiarity. "He was dead before I was as old as our child is now," he murmurs. "He never met me, even at my mother's _seemantham_." 

It is an old wound, perhaps the oldest he has; pity he has never spoken of it before. Or perhaps he has, and Kattappa has never been able to understand him before now. 

"But I am more fortunate than he was," Baahu continues. "My child will know me, will know how much they are loved. You'll have to look after Mother and Mahishmati from now, Uncle." He turns to study Devasena, still surrounded by her Kuntalan well-wishers, more closely; his eyes are tender. "My path lies elsewhere." 

This is your doing, a voice deep inside Kattappa speaks. He was meant for the throne--he could have fought for it--and instead you dragged him down to your level, you dog. 

"Don't look so tragic, Uncle," says Baahu. "We'll see each other soon, when my child is born. I'll be waiting." 

* 

But: "Baahubali must die," speaks the Queen Mother that terrible night, and Kattapa closes his eyes in resignation. 

A slave has no right to love, or pride, or a son of his own. He only wonders that he had not predicted the cost sooner.

**Author's Note:**

> * Vanshaj - descendant.
> 
> * _Seemantham_ \- baby shower, especially in Tamil/Telegu communities. The ceremony we see Devasena having in the movie.
> 
> * Dates are obviously vague in the movie, but we know that Amarendra and Devasena marry sometime after Vijayadashimi/Dusshera, so that roughly 6 months later would be somewhere in the month of Chaitra. I like the association with Rama Navami, though, as so much of the movie uses themes from the Ramayan (and, in the Tamil version at least, the song sung at Devasena's _seemantham_ specifically references Rama and Sita, not Krishna as in the Hindi version.)
> 
> *Finally, the swords. Amarendra uses two swords throughout the movies, as far as I can see. The one with a horse-head handle is used most often, and the portrait of his father shows that at the very least, Vikramadeva had a similar one, if not the same one. There is another one used though, that as best as I can tell, is the one that Sivagami gives both Bhalla and Amarendra during "Mamatalla Talli"; this one, ironically, appears in both scenes where Amarendra defies Sivagami and defends Devasena. It is also the one that Amarendra leaves at her feet--however, no explanation is given as to how he later has his other sword in the village despite specifically being told he couldn't take anything from the palace with him. Truth be told, this fic was written as much to address that plot hole as to be yet another addition to the "Kattappa WHY?!!" genre of fics we have in our fandom :D.
> 
> (And thank you, everyone, for reading and leaving such lovely comments. I honestly thought I was the only person who wanted to read or write fic in this fandom, and that I would just be posting these stories into the void. I couldn't resist the temptation to explore Rajamouli's brilliant universe even otherwise, but all of your lovely comments, or even the fact that people read and enjoy this even a little, make me love writing them even more! Thank you so, so much!)


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